Where You Lead
by KathSilver
Summary: After Newt's death, Thomas can't settle at the Safe Haven. He goes out during a storm and is struck by lightning- only to find that he has been sent a year into the past, it's his first day in the Glade, and he can remember EVERYTHING. And, because Thomas still had some of Newts blood on him somewhere, so can Newt. Cue the boys falling in love and trying to rewrite history.
1. Chapter 1

"_Please, Tommy. Please."_

The words echoed in his head over and over as he walked, a demented chorus that shredded his heart and his resolve with every breath. The sand was moving between his toes- cold and wet, with bits of shell stabbing into the flesh. But he didn't care. It's not like he could feel it.

"_And I remember you."_

It didn't matter that some of the words had been written, he still heard them in his voice. His voice that boomed and cracked when under pressure, that was deep and melodious when they were alone or whispering quietly, but high and strong enough to carry along a battlefield. God, how he hated that he knew what that voice sounded like screaming across a battlefield.

The rain was coming harder now, with thunder booming in time to the pounding in his heart in a sickly staccato beat that focused its pressure on the healing scab on his chest, shoving the phantom blade deeper with each pulse. In the lightning he saw his demons crowding him with the faces of those he failed to save, the people who deserved this paradise far more than he did, that would never get the chance to see it.

"_Thank you for being my friend."_

Right, some friend he was. Thomas walked on, willing the rain to cleanse him, to do something to ease the numbness in his limbs and chase the ghost from his skin. He knew he had to live, he did. But could anyone call this living? Minho looked the same as he, and Gally pushed forward with a brutal take on positivity that you could tell his entire motto of being was now "What Would Chuck Do?", as though Gally decided that his penance to the world was to not let it know that Chuck was no longer in it. And if you focused hard enough, you could taste the salt of Frypan's tears in the stew he'd made every night since Thomas shared the letter with him, the stew he made in honor of Newt.

Newt.

Fuck but he couldn't take it anymore.

In the background of the storm Thomas could make out voices calling his name, calling him back to the huts and away from the treacherous wind and fury of the skies- but didn't he belong with treachery and fury? Isn't that what he deserved, what he became in the end?

Thomas' fingers shook with the feeling of a blade piercing flesh and it was with him every minute of every night and day. And he couldn't take it.

"_Take it!"_

The letter that rang in his head with everything left unsaid, undone, unfinished, God it wasn't FAIR, it wasn't right, it was wrong, wrong, wrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongWRONG-

"eeeeaUUUUUUUUUGHHHHHHHHHH!"

Thomas screamed his pain into the night, challenging the gods to right this wrong in the universe, to take him instead, to stop the pain in his heart if they wouldn't stop it from beating altogether.

His tears mixed with the rain as he poured his heart, tattered and useless thing that it was, into his voice.

"_If I could do it all over again, I would, and I wouldn't change a thing."_

Funny, because the last thought to cross his mind before the lightning struck and blackness overtook his vision was that if he could?

He would change it all.


	2. Chapter 2

_emHis veins were on fire and the itch in his brain was too much, too much to cope with. The flaring white light in his chest was the only thing allowing him to think clearly, and all he could think was that Thomas did it. It's over, it's finally over._

_Thomas had saved him from hell, and he was finally free./em_

Newt woke up screaming bloody murder into the void, lashing out so violently that he nearly tipped himself from his hammock and went sprawling across the roughly hewn floors. Rough hands grabbed him and held him upright, and in his disoriented state he called out for the only person who made any sense.

"Tommy?"

The hands helping him steady himself tensed, and then pulled away, before Alby's confused face came into view with his brows furrowed in concern.

"Who the hell is 'Tommy'?" he asked.

Newt's heart skidded to a halt and he felt like he was about to have a bloody heart attack, which was extremely ironic given the fact that he'd just Cranked out and then been stabbed to death. But here was Alby, right in front of his face. Alby who hadn't been stung by Griever's, an Alby was that safe and sane and most importantly em breathing /em.

"Alby, you're alive!"

Newt's mouth worked before his brain could tell it to shut up, and his arms were tight around the other boy's neck before Newt could force himself to stay still. He didn't know if this was heaven or hell, but whichever it was he was grateful for this chance to see his friend one more time.

His breathing was coming in ragged gasps and his body was shaking so hard that he couldn't stop it. Alby's arms closed around him in the briefest of hugs, before withdrawing and holding him at arm's length, inspecting every part of him he could see.

"Slim it, Newt. Have you been stung?" Alby asked urgently. "Seriously were you stung or something? Of course, I'm alive, what's the matter with you?"

This didn't make sense. Newt shook his head to clear it, trying to buy himself time to calm down and think. He was dead, very dead, because Thomas had stabbed him in the bloody heart, finally, and he'd bled out on the ground in the Last City and was glad for it. But if this was heaven or hell, and he could remember his own death, then surely it stood to reason that Alby should be able to remember his too. So why couldn't he? Trepidation crept along his insides like the fog that invaded the Glade the day that the Sun turned off in the sky.

But that hadn't happened yet, had it?

Newt gulped for air and tried to get his emotions under control enough so that he could test his theory, and before Alby called in the med-jacks to give him a once-over.

"Sorry mate," Newt mumbled, shaking his head again. "Didn' mean to scare ya. Must've been a buggin' nightmare."

Alby raised a single dark eyebrow in disbelief, before removing his hands from Newt's shoulders.

"A nightmare."

Newt brought his shaking hand to wipe at the cold sweat that had built up on his brow, how the fuck was he going to explain this? It was impossible, that's what it was. How was he here, why was he here, what the actual fuck was going on?

He briefly entertained the possibility that everything he'd experience had been manufactured by WCKD, projected into his brain by a bloody chip to see the effects it would have on his white blood cells or some klunk. But that didn't make sense, because they really only cared about the immune's, not him. All he was to them was their bloody control subject. Or was he? Was that a lie they fed his brain to see what it would do to affect him? Would they do that? strong Could/strong they do that? Newt's heart began to race at the possibility, but he was struck by the memory of amber eyes searching his for any sign of hope, of life. Newt began his litany of Alby, Winston, Chuck, Thomas… grounding himself in the emotions the names invoked. The memory. He didn't care how much technology WCKD had available to them, there's no way that manufactured all of that. None.

"Yeah, you shank. It's a thing where at night you see horrible things that make you want to scream? Also a thing we seem to live our daily lives in? Ever heard of it?" Newt responded, hoping that he could hide his internal freak out behind sarcasm, as he once had done.

Alby stood, leaving Newt's hammock to swing gently back and forth at the loss of his presence. "Then who is this 'Tommy' shank? Last I checked I don't look like no shuckin' 'Tommy', Newt. Have we ever even had one here?"

Tommy. Newt squeezed his eyes shut to keep himself from focusing too much on the last time he saw Tommy clearly, laying beneath Newt and holding him back for his own safety.

Assuring him in a calm voice that everything was okay, when it wasn't. Newt appreciated the thought though.

"I have no buggin' clue Alby," He lied. "Just leftover from the nightmare I s'pose."

Alby clearly didn't believe him, but ti didn't look like he was going to push it either, which was a blessing and a half. Newt needed to figure out what the hell was happening before he messed it all up or got himself banished before he spoke out of turn, or made anyone suspicious. But living in the Glade felt like a lifetime ago, literally, and he had no idea how to behave normally anymore. Was he even using the slang correctly?

"If you say so. Wake up is soon, better get your head together. It's Greenie day."

Alby left the room before noticing the shell-shocked expression on Newt's face.

Greenie day? Quickly he got out of his hammock and race to the staff he kept in the corner to mark the days, just to be sure. Swiftly he counted, straining his brain to remember when exactly he was in this current timeline. His fingers ran up and down the staff rom muscle memory alone, and when they stopped Newt's stomach felt as though it dropped from his chest to the floor.

Today was the day that Thomas would come up in the box.


	3. Chapter 3

Thomas sat there for several moments, too overwhelmed to move. He finally forced himself to look over at the haggard building. A group of boys milled around outside, glancing around at the others and making fun.

A metallic clicking sound from the branches above grabbed his attention, made him look up; a flash of silver and red light caught his eyes just before disappearing around the tree, craning his neck for a sign of whatever he'd heard, but he saw only bare branches, gray and brown, forking out like skeleton fingers—and looking just as alive. Those little spies would be everywhere, and Thomas would have to be careful to make sure he dodged them, or else risk letting WCKD in on the fact that two people inside the maze knew more than they should.

"That was one of them beetle blades," Chuck said.

Thomas turned to his right and once again he was struck by such an intense sadness that he had no idea how to keep it from showing on his face. Almost reflexively he went to reach inside his pocket for the small totem Chuck had once given him, that he kept on him at all times, before realizing that it wasn't there. Although memory, both muscle and brain, seemed to have made the journey, nothing physical ended up with Thomas… wherever he was now.

Thomas cleared his throat and nodded at him. "A beetle what?"

"Beetle blade," Chuck said, pointing to the top of the tree. "Won't hurt ya unless you're stupid enough to touch one of them." He paused. "Shank." He didn't sound comfortable saying the last word, as if he hadn't quite grasped the slang of the Glade.

He held out his hand. "My name's Chuck. I was the Greenbean until you showed up."

"_Find my parents, Thomas."_

Thomas couldn't shake his extreme discomfort, and pain. The sense of failure. Nothing was making sense and his head hurt. He was having an easier time remembering what it was he had said and done the first time he experienced this the longer he went along. It was like the world's worst case of Deja-vu.

"Why is everyone calling me Greenbean?" he asked, shaking Chuck's hand quickly, then letting go before he was tempted to stuff him into his pocket and protect him until the end of his days. Which would be so much longer than last time, by God if Thomas had any say in this whatsoever Chuck was getting out of here alive.

"Cuz you're the newest Newbie." Chuck pointed at Thomas and laughed.

Thomas shook his head and got to his feet, ready for Chuck to start leading the way around the Glade; he could really use the time to think and figure out what happened. How it could possibly be that he and Newt had gone back in time? Why only the two of them? It couldn't be because they'd both died, not when so many others had as well. It had to be something to do with the lightning, that was the only common point.

Newt had already been dead, so all of this hinged on Thomas, on what he had done to trigger this course of events. He'd been in the rain, walking, screaming, dying inside and begging someone, anyone, to make that death real, and then he'd been struck. It was just Thomas, alone, no Newt. He bit his lip, not paying too much attention to Chuck's narration of the Glade since he'd heard it all before anyway and wasn't required to speak for it. Thomas was deep in thought, trying to apply logic to something that was literally impossible, when he realized that he was trying to grasp for a necklace that wasn't there. That hopefully would never be there.

Thomas nearly tripped over himself at the realization. He was wearing the necklace, and even the clothes, that he'd been wearing the night Newt had died. Not like he'd worn them often, the clothes. Only when he was feeling particularly sorry for himself and hating everything more than usual. But between those two items, and shoddy washing abilities, it was entirely possible that some of Newt's blood had been on him somewhere when the lightning had struck. Could that have been it? Was that the missing piece?

The sudden silence drew Thomas from his reverie, Chuck was looking at him like he was supposed to say something.

"Chuck, how… old do you think I am?"

The boy scanned him up and down. "I'd say you're sixteen. And in case you were wondering, five foot nine… brown hair. Oh, and ugly as a fried liver on a stick."

Close, but wrong. Add another year Chuckie, due to extenuating circumstances.

"Are you serious?" He paused, searching for words. "How…" He didn't even know what to ask.

"Don't worry. You'll be all whacked for a few days, but then you'll get used to this place. I have. We live here, this is it. Better than living in a pile of klunk." He squinted, maybe anticipating Thomas's question. "_Klunk's_ another word for poo. Poo makes a klunk sounds when it falls in our pee pots."

Thomas looked at Chuck, and although this was the second time he was having this conversation, it didn't make it any easier to believe. "That's nice" was all he was able to manage. He walked past Chuck toward the old building again; a shack was a better word for it. It looked three or four stories high and about to fall down at any minute—a crazy assortment of logs and boards and thick twine and windows seemingly thrown together at random, the massive, ivy-strewn stone walls rising up behind it. As he moved across the courtyard, the distinct smell of firewood and some kind of meat cooking made his stomach grumble. He could see boys in the distance gathering the last odds and ends they would need for the welcoming bon fire, where Thomas would steal Newt away and hopefully accomplish the impossible.

"What's your name?" Chuck asked from behind, running to catch up.

"What?"

"Your _name_? You still haven't told us—and I know you remember that much."

"Thomas."

"Nice to meet you, Thomas." Chuck said. "Don't you worry, I'll take care of you. I've been here a whole month, and I know the place inside out. You can count on Chuck, okay?"

Now Thomas was torn. Last time, he'd gone off in search of the maze and immediately gotten further on Gally's shit list for it, which was not something he needed if this whole thing was not actually a dream. So instead he stayed with Chuck and was guided to where they slept, where he attempted to fumble his way through setting up a hammock.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Newt limping in the direction of the doors, a slight look of confusion on his face. When he glanced over at Thomas, Thomas shook his head as if to say 'No, we don't need the trouble if we can avoid it.' Newt raised his eyebrow, but continued to walk to the doors, ready to greet the runners when they came in for the night. He color was a little better than earlier; clearly, he'd managed to get at least a small grip on himself, and anything else could be taken care of when they finally had more than a few moments to speak at the bon fire.

The shadows from the walls had lengthened considerably, already creeping up the sides of the ivy-covered stone faces on the other side.

The scenery around him was comforting in a nostalgic way- the wooden buildings crouched in the northwest corner, wedged in a darkening patch of shadow, the grove of trees in the southwest. The farm area, where a few workers were still picking their way through the fields, spread across the entire northeast quarter of the Glade. The animals were in the southeast corner, mooing and crowing and baying.

In the exact middle of the courtyard, the still gaping hold of the Box lay open, as if inviting him to jump back in and go back to his own time. Near that, maybe twenty feet to the south, stood a squat building made of rough concrete blocks, a menacing iron door its only entrance—there were no windows. A large round handle resembling a steel steering wheel marked the only way to open the door, just like something within a submarine.

Time passed slowly, so damn slowly, as Thomas waited for the bon fire to begin, but eventually Chuck dragged him out to where the delicious smells of cooking meat and wood smoke originated from.

Thomas started to plan things out in his head. First, food. The stress was eating him alive and he hadn't eaten in… well honestly, he had no idea. This body didn't get a meal today and Thomas's brain was reminding him that he hadn't been eating all that much in the Safe Haven, either. So, first was food, and then once Gally's special drinks broke out and started making the rounds, he would find Newt and drag him to where the med-jacks kept their supplies. If all went well, the booze and the wrestling matches would be enough to keep everyone distracted while Thomas performed a simple little procedure that he'd never actually been taught how to do before.

Right. Great plan.

Frypan looked Thomas up and down before giving him a healthy amount of food, including some meat on a stick. "Better bulk up, Greenie. No skinny shanks will survive long out here."

Thomas nodded his thanks- if Frypan had made stew tonight Thomas didn't think he'd be able to keep himself together. This Frypan looked so much happier, so much more at ease, that it was almost difficult to look at. Surrounding him was a sea of faces that, the last time Thomas had seen them, were painted with blood and terror. It was difficult not to lose his appetite.

Soon, though, his hunger won out and he took a huge bite. The wonderful tastes of ham and cheese and mayonnaise filled his mouth.

"Ah, man," Thomas mumbled through a mouthful. "I was starving."

"Called it." Chuck chomped into his own sandwich.

They were sat on a log, a small way away from the main bon fire itself, silently enjoying their meal, when Newt sidled in, slipped between Thomas and Chuck, and took his seat in the exact same manner that he had last time.

The near contact forced Thomas to take a deep breath and brace himself to keep his composure. The neural disconnect of having two people sitting next to him that his heart still mourned was disorienting, to say the least, and at any given moment Thomas was a hairsbreadth away from turning into a screaming, sobbing mess, begging for their forgiveness. He'd never meant to fail them so both devastatingly, so thoroughly, and if this was truly the universe giving him a second chance then he would rip himself to shreds to ensure that it didn't happen again. He was already broken, it wasn't like he was worth much anyway. And if this was just a fever dream before he awoke then at the very least he would wake up knowing that in at least one version of this story he'd done right by those he loved most. Sure, the waking up would kill him, but life wasn't worth living anymore anyway.

"Alright there, Tommy?"

Thomas's breath caught and by the time he looked at Newt, _his Newt_, Chuck had already gone, leaving the two as alone as they were likely to get in the next few hours. With the risk of being eavesdropped on low, Thomas couldn't hold it in anymore.

"I'm sorry, Newt. I'm so fucking sorry—"

Newt screwed his eyes shut before launching himself to his feet, dragging Thomas up with him, and when he spoke it was as shaky as Thomas felt. "Not here, mate. C'mon."

His eyes blurred with tears, his self-control shattering under Newt's touch, and he could barely tell where he was being led. He was vaguely aware of Newt speaking to others as they passed them by, explaining their disappearance away, "First Day freak-out finally hit, gonna get 'im away from the shuck faces that'd give 'im problems. He'll be righ' as rain after a bit, be back later."

He heard voices mummering understanding, and before he knew it Thomas was standing in the middle of the med-jacks shack, and his arms were full of a sobbing Newt. That was the last straw. Thomas held the sobbing boy in his arms and let the flood gates pour open as every emotion he'd kept bottled in since he woke up in the elevator for the second time rained out through his tears. The sobs were body jerking, and before he knew it they were sitting on the floor in one inconsolable mass, crying out the terror and pain and sorrow and guilt that they each bore- not just in regards to the other, but in regards to being surrounded by all of those they'd buried, that they'd failed. They cried for their fallen friends, for their lost innocence, for the daunting prospect of having to live through it all once more when they knew very well that to lose their friends a second time would, in fact, break them so utterly that repair was out of the question.

Before Thomas realized it, they were both talking, apologizing and begging forgiveness—giving forgiveness and peace where they could. In that moment, holding Newt in his arms, Thomas no longer blamed him for begging Thomas to kill him. For forcing his hand. Feeling the still beating heart inside Newt's chest thumping wildly along with his own went a long way to sooth that wound, until he understood the newest words falling out of his companion's mouth.

"I can't live through that again, Tommy. I- I can't get sick again, lose myself again, I'm not bloody strong enough I swear, I can't do it—"

Thomas removed Newt's still sobbing form from where it rested against his chest and held him forward, there was so little room between their faces that they were breathing the same air, and Thomas could taste Newt's breath on his lips while he stared deeply into his eyes. Thomas cleared his throat and the words that came out were far steadier than he thought they would be when he managed to speak.

"You won't, Newt. Not happening. Not an option, you understand me?" Thomas said. Immediately Newt's head started shaking, but Thomas lifted him up into the air and planted Newt in the chair the med-jacks used for patients before rummaging around in the drawers for the supplies he would need.

"Tommy—"

"No. I don't know how much you remember, how far gone you were when- well. While- while that was all happening, Teresa came on over the loud speaker."

"_Teresa?!_ What does that traitorous bint have to do with—"

"Shut up and listen for five shucking seconds or I swear to God I'll knock you out for this."

Newt shut his jaw in surprise and blinked, anger starting to color his cheeks.

"Good that. As I was saying, she came on over the loud speaker in the city and begged me to come back to the lab, because I could save you. We had the cure the whole time, Newt. The whole goddamn time and it was right there in front of us and you know the shitty part?" While Thomas spoke, he'd drawn his blood and begun to mimic the process that he'd seen Mary do for Brenda all of those long months ago. He was careful, so damn careful, because any wrong move would mean that he would lose Newt all over again, and that was the one thing he couldn't handle. Hell, given his current situation it was fair to say he hadn't exactly handled it the first time anyway.

"If we had listened to Teresa while we were in WCKD, when she was talking about Brenda's survival, we could have saved you," Thomas continued, and he heard Newt's breath hitch in his throat, though confusion still sat on his brow and in his eyes. Thomas finished the distillation and went directly for an auto-injector before marching up to Newt like a man on a mission.

Newt looked to be close to hyperventilating and the tears were still streaming down his eyes, but the hope on his face felt like absolution.

"I'm the cure, Newt, and I know you said that if you could do it all over again you wouldn't change a thing," Thomas whispered before jamming the auto-injector into Newt with a satisfying finality. Their faces were close enough that Thomas could see the exact moment that understanding dawned on Newt's face, and the realization sunk in. "But I'm not you, and I'll be damned if I lose you again."


End file.
